Justified
by Lunarion Silver
Summary: M!Hawke/Anders/Justice  - Slash - "Written as part of a fanfic trade, this explores the bond between Hawke and Justice; the inevitable consequence of falling in love with a possessed mage  as well as the spirit inside him ."


**Title: **Justified

**Fandom**: Dragon Age II

**Pairing:** Hawke/JAnders! (M/M/...fade spirit?)

**Warnings**: SPOILERS,

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. I'm only an obsessive fan.

**A/N**: I don't have a Beta, so I apologise for any typos or nonsensical ramblings.

Written for Camilladilla on the BSN as part of a fanfic trade. Enjoy! Also, I might have a slight obsession with describing kisses, or so it seems. Anders, Justice... what do you two do to me? Though I have some wonderful ideas of what you two _could_ do to me, ideallyatthesametime. Anyways...

I- ~ ~ ~ -I

It's heavy and thick, the taste of the Fade on his lips, damp like ozone yet static as it sparks; an almost metallic tang on his tongue, silvery and rich, ethereal with a hint of something utterly beyond his comprehension. Mixed sensations, and beneath it all there's that underlying flavour of worry and regret - unquenchable love with a sweetness not unlike honeyed wheat - and all things Anders. A profile unique only to him. And of course, it occurs to Hawke that no, he shouldn't know what the Fade tastes like, how it tingles against his lips and arcs against his skin with a subtle, roving heat, but that's okay, because it's Anders (_and Justice_), and he wouldn't have it any other way.

The moment is electric, thrilling, sensation near addictive as memories surge against the back of his mind. He doesn't fight the onslaught, allowing images to ripple as they wash over him, cresting behind closed eyes. Brought forth by his _proximity_ to the Fade no doubt; a fleeting thought (_yet oddly comforting_). Instead, he tries to recall when the realization of his affection first dawned on him with a clarity unlike any other, but it seems to be a futile effort. After all, he isn't really sure when or how it happened. Perhaps, he thinks, it was more appropriate to say that said epiphany had crashed through his core; brutal as it ravaged him, merciless as it ravished him, and all while he denied the very twisted possibility - the very notion that such a thing were even possible. Try as he might, he was unable to find the rationale for such madness, and much to his horror (_more like relief_), he eventually came to accept the inevitable truth, inexplicable as it was. An affront to the natural order of the world, and of course, the Fade.

Hawke smiles against thin, crackling lips as he suddenly remembers a conversation held long ago. Anders had told him, once, that perhaps things could have been different if they had met _before_. Hawke had agreed, albeit subtly, but at the time, it had been for entirely different reasons.

Now, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, his first clue should have been the incident at the Chantry.

_A flash of crystalline fire, blinding blue-white erupting from the man on his knees. A sound – skin cracking, shred as fabric – rings through the air; a mortal shell unable to contain inhuman rage. An ear splitting howl, both anguished and sorrowful, and then nothing remains save for a spirit wearing torn skin, eyes alight with pure, undiluted hate. Its voice a baritone echo, booming as long denied vengeance seethes from within; uncontrollable fury finally unleashed upon those whom have wronged it._

_He fights along side what he knows to be an abomination, back-to-back as though brothers, kin. And against all his better judgement, every thread of common sense he claims to have, he doesn't strike it down where it stands. In the aftermath of a massacre, amidst a mess of shattered bodies rent limb-from-limb, Anders looks at him; meets his eyes with an amber stare so soulful, so full of compassion and hope, pain and regret, an indistinguishable tangle of emotion so overwhelming that Hawke, for all his supposed strength of will, can only crumble beneath. And at the behest of something undeniably unknown, he offers his hand not only in thanks, but also in friendship._

An odd, comforting sensation lingered against the back of his neck from that moment forward.

Hawke's smile deepens - almost a smirk - as he recalls that fateful night, head tilting back as electrified lips crush against his own; scent of an arcane storm hanging heavy in the air. It caresses his senses, intoxicating, the faintest trace of lyrium on his tongue and sparks implode down his spine, tendrils of azure lightning seeking out the very foundations of his soul. He can feel Anders' power, infused with that cool, near soothing heat of the Fade, prickling along his skin, causing hair to stand on end as the very essence of magic seeps just a little further _into him_; binds them together just a little bit more.

He and Anders. He and Justice.


End file.
